“What do you suppose they’re saying?” asked Quinn.
“Follow the yellow brick road,” I said.
Quinn stared in disbelief.
“Are you in fact telling me we’re going up against Joe DeMeo, twenty shooters, and eight dogs with this bunch of clowns?” Quinn asked.
We looked at each other. They were in fact clowns. We burst out laughing. I don’t know, maybe it was the stress, maybe we were just glad to be working together again on a major assignment.
“I can see it now,” Quinn said. “The little people put a big flower on their shirts. When the goons bend over to sniff the flower, it’s really a squirt gun!”
I said, “When they shoot their pop guns, a big sign comes out that says BANG!”
“And Joe says, ‘Who are these clowns?’ and someone says, ‘The fuck do I know? Ringling Brothers?’”
I said, “Joe DeMeo, captured by midget circus clowns! Any chance they’ll make fun of him in prison?”
Hugo approached. “What the fuck is that thing?” he asked.
The PEPS weapon-pulsed energy projectiles-like ADS, was originally developed for crowd control. Accurate up to a mile away, it fires directed bursts of pulsed energy to vaporize solid objects. If fired near a target, it heats the surrounding air until the target explodes. The resulting shock wave will knock down anyone in the vicinity and render them helpless for a minute or more.
After explaining this to Hugo, he said, “If we have that, why do we need the ADS weapons?”
I explained that while PEPS would knock down walls and disorient people, it wouldn’t necessarily disarm them or render them helpless.
“The ADS weapon is different,” I said. “It offers an instant, permanent solution to the problem of resistance.”
Hugo turned his attention to Quinn. “You are one ugly bastard,” he said. “No offense,” he added.
Quinn said, “I got this way from eating shrimps. No offense.”
Looks were exchanged between the two.
“You want a piece of me?” Hugo snarled.
“Looks like that’s all there is.”
“Hey,” I said, “we’re all on the same team here.”
Hugo noticed the architect and his wife tied up in the back seat of Quinn’s car. “Who are they?” he asked.
“They’re going to tell me two things: the layout of Joe’s house and how to breach his panic room.”
CHAPTER 46
I’d completed my chat with the architect and his wife and just begun the final run-through with the circus army when Sal Bonadello called.
“Joe’s making a move on your wife and kid.”
I’d expected that. In a normal world, I would have had Callie take Janet and Kimberly to my headquarters for safekeeping, but this wasn’t a normal world; it was Janet’s world. I trusted Callie to protect them, but I feared Joe might firebomb the house from a distance.
So last night I’d placed a call to Kimberly and explained the situation. I told her to find a way to get her mom out of the house until I called. I told her wherever she went, she’d be safe because Callie would follow them.
“You got enough guys to handle the threat?” I asked Sal.
Besides getting me into Chris Unger’s office, this was the part of the plan where I needed Sal’s help. I wanted his men guarding Janet’s house in case anything went wrong.
“DeMeo put a contract on you for a million bucks. Told all the families, then called me, said grab your family and hold them hostage.”
“You think he sent some of his guys anyway?”
“I do. It would be just like that rat bastard not to trust me.”
“You running that charity and all.”
“The Mothers of Sicily,” he said. “So, did you get your family somewhere safe?”
“I hope so.”
“Is your wife pissed at you?”
“Ex-wife. And yeah, she’s pissed. Like always.”
“Ain’t they all,” he said.
I finished briefing the circus performers. Quinn checked their equipment. Hugo and I called Victor and gave him an update.
Next, I called Kathleen.
“How’s it hanging, cowboy?” she asked.
“Boring stuff, these Homeland conferences,” I lied.
“Anyone famous there?”
“Besides me? Not really.”
“You’re probably hanging out with one of those pretty high school girls who couldn’t get into the movies.”
“Like, that’s so totally random,” I said.
She laughed. “Don’t work too hard, lover boy. I’m expecting the full treatment when you come home.”
“And you’ll get it,” I said.
“Speaking of which…”
“Can’t say yet. Sometimes these things last a couple days, sometimes more.”
“Until then,” she said, and we hung up.
And so it was time.
CHAPTER 47
There was no getting around the noise. Between the Hummer and the Winnebago, we were screwed if we tried to drive within a mile of the chain link fence.
That’s why I needed the PEPS weapon.
Hugo, Quinn, and I were in the Hummer. The architect and his wife were in the trunk of Quinn’s rental car, and the little people were in the Winnebago. Quinn was a tight squeeze in any car, and tighter than normal in the Hummer.
“Try not to breathe on me,” Hugo said to Quinn.
“Why did you bring a Winnebago?” Quinn asked. “There are only ten of you. I thought you could get at least thirty in one of those little clown cars.”
“We could,” said Hugo, “but where would we fit the net and trampolines?”
“Good point,” Quinn said.
I drove slowly to the highway, the Winnebago close behind me. Then I headed south while the clowns sat tight. I drove past the dirt and gravel road that led to Joe DeMeo’s place, and Quinn caught a glint of something: a belt buckle, gun barrel, or cigarette butt. Whatever it was, there were probably two of them guarding the road.
The highway curved a half mile beyond the DeMeo entrance, and I drove a quarter mile farther, cut my lights, and turned around. I didn’t expect any traffic, since Highway 33 cuts through the national forest and it was well past closing time. Still, I angled the Hummer several yards off the shoulder just to be safe. We eased out of the vehicle. Quinn and I took rifles and camouflage blankets. Hugo stood behind the Hummer to keep an eye out for any oncoming cars or cagey DeMeo soldiers.
Quinn and I moved soundlessly up the road to the area where the curve began. There, we set our rifles down, put on our night vision goggles, and dropped to our bellies. We slid the next few yards quietly and waited.
We spotted the dots of light at the same time.
Cigarettes.
We reversed course, picked up our rifles, and checked to make sure the silencers were tight. These were state-of-the-art CIA silencers, which meant we could shoot the guards and make less noise than a mouse peeing in a cotton ball.
We separated. Quinn began moving silently through the forest, circling behind the men guarding the road, while I made my way slowly through the high ground, opposite DeMeo’s entrance. If everything went according to plan, we’d catch them in a crossfire. But these things never go according to plan, and I didn’t want to take a chance on one of us snapping a twig or rousing an otter or making some other sound that might alert the guards.
When I was in position, I covered my head and shoulders completely with the blanket and texted the signal to Quinn and Hugo and the circus clowns. Then we went dark with the phones but set them to twitch. I placed mine in my shirt pocket.
My night vision goggles made it easy to keep an eye on the guards while they smoked, but I was too far away to trust a shot.
It took two minutes for the Winnebago circus wagon to arrive. As the lights washed over the highway, the guards stubbed out their cigarettes. The Winnebago made a clanking noise and stopped about fifty yards from the entrance. After a moment, two little people climbed out with flashlights and lifted the hood as if to check for trouble. I had hoped at this point that the guards would approach the Winnebago so I could shoot them in the back, but they were well trained. They stayed put.